The Carnelian Cube

Five:

On the following morning Finch made his patron-call in the elaborate quarters of Sullivan Michael Politician. The breakfast was better, with a choice of dishes kept hot on a sideboard, and the Politician greeted him with more cheerfulness than Orange had been able to muster. "Here's your warrant, my lad, all signed and attested. And here's the advance on your first commission. Sign here."

"What's the commission?" Finch asked.

"Oh, youse'll be needing the money to buy books and the like youse need in your trade. Go down into Louisville and report to Mullen Jefferson Dr., and District Historian. He'll be telling youse what to do on that."

"Thank you. But what will it be? "

"I want youse to find my ancestors, of course. What use else is a Genealogist, and we haven't had one at Strawberry House this long time. I have a suspicion that me, myself, I'm descended from Brian Boru and also that incorruptible patriot, Daniel Boone, and if it's so, I would have it confirmed."

Finch frowned. "I see. But you—thou—were born in Ireland, I would say?"

"The same, all the saints bless and preserve that emerald island. Right by the lakes of Killarney. I came to this country when I was a lad."

"But Daniel Boone; how am I to show—"

"Sure, that's a problem for youse, and a real genealogist will never worry twice over it. How could it be that someone of the great house of Boone did not think of going back to the old sod?"

"I see," said Finch for the second time. He did see, too; it was a political question. Sullivan Michael Politician, as a son of Dan'l Boone, in Kentucky ….

The Strawberry House official public automobile was a large seven-passenger affair with the squarish lines of A. D. 1920. Finch asked the driver if he might sit up front with him.

"Shore," said the man, who had introduced himself as Wilberforce Calvin Chauffeur, "if thou wants to. Most passengers make a dive for the rear seat."

He grinned and Finch experienced a thrill at being addressed for the first time in the honorific style, in accordance with his gain in status. Other inhabitants of Strawberry House who had business in Louisville that day appeared and climbed into their places. They started easily, chugged along for a winding half-mile of driveway, and came out onto Preston Street Road.

"Is this the best you can do?" asked Finch.

Wilberforce Calvin threw his passenger a puzzled look. "Thou people are awful ignorant sometimes. Don't thou know that thirty miles a hour is the limit? Gives a car a clear advantage over a horse, don't it?"

"Ha." Finch digested the information, then asked: "But why haven't they improved the overall design of cars?"

"How do you mean, improved?"

"Well—" Finch fumbled. "You—youse could increase the power and lower the top and smooth off the lines to cut air resistance—"

The Chauffeur shrugged. "Air ain't resisted me none yet, and I don't know what I want more power for when I can't go no faster. Besides if I goes around all the time saying, 'This design is all wrong; it ought to be such-and-such,' He'll get himself suspicioned of accidie."

"Of what?"

Wilberforce emitted a sigh. "I don't know what thou literary gents call it when somebody ain't quite got a gen-uwine seizure of irrationality, but is pretty plumb dissatisfied with 'most everything. Us plain folks just call it accidie and let it go at that."

The conversation flagged; Finch looked abroad at the central part of Louisville, which bore little resemblance to the city he had known. Houses like that from which he had come dominated the landscape, but instead of being crowded together, they simply became larger, until they were vast human beehives covering what would have been several blocks' space and dwarfing the people who sauntered without hurry along streets profusely lined with trees. There seemed to be no specific business district, nor any devoted to manufacture; each house was a complete urban unit, with the larger ones apparently exercising functions that could only be handled by numbers of people. Moreover, though the ground-plan of the city resembled Louisville as Finch remembered it, there was one striking difference. All the streets were curved.

Finch entered the offices of Mullen Jefferson Dr., District Historian, to find a cadaverous-looking man who pumped his hand vigorously. "Sullivan called me up this morning; said youse would be down. Glad to hear of your appointment; They've needed a Genealogist at Strawberry House for months. How can I help youse, Finch, Mr.?"

"Thank thou; thou can help me acquire the technique of climbing family trees, about which I know as much at present as Ajax did about Fourier's theorem."

"No preliminary training? Oh deah." Mullen seated himself and lit a cigar. "Cain't enroll at the University because this is summer vacation. Dunno. I suppose it's reasonable to leave such appointments to the house politician, but we people at District do hev to carry the load now and then."

"I wouldn't say I was entirely unprepared," said Finch. "I've had a good deal of experience in history and archaeology."

"Youse have? That's much better. The history will give youse your basic research methods, and the archaeology will help youse with the job of faking tombstones when it's necessary."

"Faking tombstones?" said Finch, wonderingly.

"Sure. Youse'll see. Rational thing to do; harms no one and satisfies the people that commission youse. Reckon youse had best get a couple of textbooks, and then call ma in if youse strike a hard case. De William's Methodology of Genealogy—I can loan youse a copy of that—and Morgan's Historic Families of Kentucky are about what youse need to start with. Don't take De Williams' hyperaletheism too seriously, though."

"His what?"

"Hyperaletheism. Higher-truth theory. His school holds that when one goes back a sufficient number of generations, everybody is bound to be descended from everybody by the laws of probability, so that a faked pedigree showing a descent from Charlemagne is virtually as good as a real one, since the person at issue is bound to be descended from him. He fails to distinguish between genealogies carefully prepared for the district archives and those prepared on commission for patrons."

"I begin to see," said Finch.

Mullen continued: "That's one of the things on which a clear rational rule should be established, but it hasn't been done as yet. Inconsistencies like that are the very devil. Once a given line of reasoning has been shown to fit the facts best, it ought to be made authoritative, don't youse think?"

"Well—" Finch was at the edge of mentioning that authority had pronounced against the heliocentric theory of Aristarchos, which turned out to be correct after all. But it would hardly be wise to pick an argument, even on intellectual grounds, with the boss historian of the district when he himself was so new to the job. He compromised: "J/d have to work that out in my own mind a little more clearly before I could answer that, Mullen, Dr. Thank thous very much. Good morning."

... Finch sat on the grass with the tall shadow of Strawberry House making a pleasant spot of cool and Orange Eulalie exhibited a pair of well-turned knees beside him. They were puzzling out the rationalized spelling of De Williams' volume, which bore across the title-page the announcement that it was restricted to members of the historical section—an announcement not in the least surprising in view of the contents. The methodology of genealogy was described in candid detail, including the process of establishing spurious facts which De Williams advised, should not be stated on any precise authority. Rather, the genealogist should say: "It is now generally believed that—" or "Careful study has shown that—", without naming the believer or student.

"I can see how this will be useful," remarked Finch. "My first commission is to find a descent from Daniel Boone for Sullivan, and the article on Boone in the ordinary encyclopedia doesn't even say whether Boone had any children. I suppose I can get that from somewhere else, however."

Eulalie said: "This De Williams is tighter than you may think, though. I mean in his general approach."

"How so?" Finch felt the touch of her shoulder against his own and noted that she had used the pronoun of equality in status for the first time. On the practice court in front of them, Terry sweatily banged away at a ball.

"Isn't that obvious? We were taught in school that whatever contributes to an orderly and happy condition of society is right. Now if you fake a good genealogy for Sullivan, you'll make him happy without making anyone unhappy. So it must be right."

"Well, there's the little matter of abstract truth," said Finch. "In the long run, mankind is happier, whether orderly or not, for knowing all the facts. Therefore, no compromise with scientific accuracy should be—"

"That's just a private idea of yours," said Eulalie. "I can think of lots of things that people wouldn't be any happier for knowing."

"Such as?" said Finch.

"Well—" said Eulalie. "I know—Didn't you ever hear about in the old days how they used to make distilled drinks, and everyone got disgustingly drunk and irrational, and there were a lot of killings. Wouldn't everyone have been happier if they hadn't ever found out how to make them in the first place?"

"But isn't that an individual matter? Why not let people drink what they please?" Finch almost let it slip that the experiment of telling them what they could not drink had been tried in his America with somewhat unfortunate results.

"Don't talk nonsense, Arthur. You're almost as bad as Bill—in a nicer way."

She fluttered eyelids at him, and he reflected that the place was rather public for courting, a fact of which he was almost instantly reminded by the sound of a heavy step on the grass, and the voice of Orange William Banker.

"What are youse doing here, Eulalie? What are youse doing, Finch? What are youse doing, Terry?"

The athlete looked around in sullen surprise, but be-? fore he could voice a protest Eulalie cut in with: "Sitting on the grass and reading with Arthur, since you ask."

The banker's face began to tint toward the familiar crimson. "Well, youse have done enough of it. Come with me." He swung to Finch: "As for youse, I'm warning youse, once and for all, to keep away from my wife."

He was gone before Finch could reply. Terry looked after the retreating form and shook his head. "That man shore don't like you, Arthur. No sir. I wouldn't want him to be that down on me."

Finch got up slowly and with unpleasant feelings surging through him. "What can he do? I have half a mind to hang around Eulalie as much as I please just to show him—"

"Better not, Arthur. Can be mighty rough when a patron's got a down on you. I dunno, but—look."

He pointed. The pair of Proctors were coming across the grass, their expressions more of boredom than the grimness to be expected from the law.

"You're under arrest again, Finch Arthur," said one.

"Huh? What's the matter this time? Have I been advertising something again?"

"Charge of indolence. Accusation by Orange William Banker. Coming easy or want to resist?—No, wait a minute, court's in session right now, and you don't have to resist 'less you think they got a good case against you."

Finch followed them gloomily to the Board Room, where he watched Sullivan dispose of the case of a mechanic who wanted to change patrons and a woman accused of having illegal children before his own name was called. Orange described his idleness during normal working hours with some asperity.

"Well, what have youse got to say?" Sullivan directed at him when the tirade was finished.

"Only that genealogy isn't like building a house," replied Finch. "To work at it at all one has to dig things out of books, and I might just as well be reading them outdoors as in—"

"That'll do, Finch Mr.," said the Politician, with a snap of his duck-billed jaw. "I see your point perfectly, and I'm sure the remainder of this court will agree with me in agreeing with it. Won't you, boys? In fact, they'd agree even if you were guilty, which you are not. Case dismissed." He banged his gavel. "On the other hand, this court itself will bring a charge against Orange William Banker for maliciously interfering with a working man while lawfully engaged in his duties. I've had just about enough of this, Bill, and I'm going to write to Fairbanks, Alaska, to ask whether they haven't'a second-rate poet they want to trade for a third-rate banker."

"Alaska!" puffed Orange. "Why you aan practically spit on the North Pole from there!"

"The better for you, Bill. Your presence there ought to warm up the climate. I should have traded you before, because you're such a rotten banker—"

"I'm not a rotten banker! You're insulting the profession!"

"Look at your personal bank account and then look at mine; and I started as a garbage-collector—"

"But you can't judge my efficiency as a banker by my personal gain. No sensible person would devote his energy merely to acquiring money when he can't do anything with it above his status."

"Maybe so. But I don't like the way you cut your hair, either; I don't like having you around. So you can start packing for Fairbanks right away. Stenographer."

"Appeal to the district," said Orange. "You'll hear more of this, even if you are a Politician."

They did hear more of it, as predicted. A couple of days later, as Finch was poring over the historic families of Kentucky, a postman handed him an official-looking letter without a stamp. Inside was a typed flimsy, which began with several dozen whereases, but at last got down to four decrees by the District Court for the Political District of Louisville. The Court ruled:

1) With respect to the acquittal of Finch Arthur Poet on the charge of advertising, Decreed: that the decision of the House Court was correct and is affirmed.

2) With respect to the refusal of the Strawberry House Court to take action in the civil complaint of Orange v. Finch, Decreed: that the Strawberry House Court was in error, and that the said Finch is hereby ordered to give the said Orange and his family and friends one orgy, at the expense of the said Finch, whereat the said Finch shall recite one sonnet of his authentic composition, in praise of the said Orange, not later than September the first of the current year.

3) With respect to the acquittal of the said Finch on the charge of indolence, Decreed: That the decision of the Strawberry House Court was correct and is affirmed without right of further appeal in view of the frivolous nature of the charge.

4) With respect to the intention of Sullivan Michael Politician to trade the said Orange to another House, Decreed: that the rule giving House Politicians control over the movements of their constituents was established on the presumption that the said Politicians were elected because they knew best the needs of their Houses, and that this Court will not interfere in the local administrative decisions of the Strawberry House Politician; with the exception that the said Orange shall not be removed from, his present House before September the second of the current year.

It did not strike Finch that Terry was exactly the person to whom he wished to look for advice about this prospective orgy, but he could think of no one else to ask, and ended by seeking out the pseudo-Tiridat. The athlete was whistling cheerfully, his room littered with sweatshirts and similar equipment which he was stuffing into a bag.

"Hiyah, Arthur!" Terry greeted him. "You is jest in time to see me off to the match at Highland Park House. Afterwards there's gonna be a orgy there to give us a chance to th'ow away our winnings. They got a really swell gambling room—best I ever see. Why don't you come on over this evening?"

Finch grinned: "The only time I like gambling is when I'm running the roulette wheel."

"You cain't buy more than what your status allows you anyway, so why not get rid of it in style?"

"Apparently I'm going to get rid of some of it in more style than I want to. What do you think of this?" He produced the copy of the Louisville District Court's decrees.

When he had finished reading it Terry snickered. "Looks like they done found out where you live, Arthur."

"No doubt. But I'm certainly not going to give an orgy for that ill-conditioned specimen if I can help it."

The athlete's mouth fell open. "You mean you're gonna th'ow down that District Court's decree? Boy!"

"Well, I'm not going to defy the court, naturally. But I want to know how I can get out of it without getting myself into more trouble."

Terry scratched his head; then his vulpine face took on a naughty expression. "Looky here, Arthur, how it reads. Orange kin be transported any time after the first of September, but it don't say nothin' about what ef something has slipped up so you couldn't give the orgy in the meantime. Now, sp'ose you got ordered to go away some-wheres to study up on genealogies and couldn't git back in time. ... I reckon you see what I mean. Gee whillikins, it would be funny! Orange would be sittin' around waitin' for his orgy and tellin' everybody about it, and by time you got back he'd be way up there in Alaska where he couldn't file no more complaints on you." Terry heaved up a long arm and smote Finch between the shoulder-blades.

Finch staggered a little and recovered, turning Terry's suggestion over in his mind suspiciously, but failing to find any flaw.

"I suppose," he mused aloud, "the way to do it would be to leave as soon as possible, and make reservations that would bring me back here on September first. Then I can stage a last minute accident that will make me miss a boat or train by about ten minutes. Terry, will you do me a favor over there at Highland Park House? See if the library has anything you can borrow about Ireland, especially about Irish genealogy. Everything in the library here is as old as Uranus."

"I'll look," said Terry, "but I don't think there'll be nothing. Most all the libraries outside the big city ones got pretty near the same books. But I'll look, just to prove to you what a good and faithful friend you got."

Finch suppressed the comment that came to his mind. He was looking at the dresser where Terry had spread out his minor possessions, stuffing some of them into his pockets and some into his bag. The odd thing about it was that there seemed to be two key-rings in the collection, each containing half a dozen keys that were apparently identical. Without more than a flash of wonderment as to why the athlete should have duplicate sets, the thought crossed Finch's mind that if he could get one of these it would be possible to continue uninterrupted the search for the carnelian cube he had begun once before. No doubt everything in this dream-experience was very rational and reasonable; but now that the charm of un-familiarity had worn off, it was beginning to be irritating, and if that were the escape ...

Terry stuffed one key-ring into his pocket. "Say, Arthur," he said: "I bet I know what you're up to. Goin' to Ireland to look up old Sullivan's family tree, ain't you?"

"That was my intention," said Finch, standing up and walking over to the dresser to lean his back against it.

"Don't guess you'll find much you couldn' git right here," said Terry. "Whups! Forgot my shavin' lotion."

He dived into the bathroom to get it and as he did so Finch casually slipped the extra key-ring into his pocket.